


Herald

by jardindesetoiles



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dismemberment, Eonwe is a total cunt and he doesn't care who knows about it, Humiliation, Slight mention of vomit (for emetiphobics), Violence, War of Wrath, dark!Eönwë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardindesetoiles/pseuds/jardindesetoiles
Summary: Mairon and Eonwe's last encounter at the War of Wrath, or how Mairon watched them destroy Melkor.  I'm not very good at summaries, but know that this work is quite dark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, I write Eonwe a little differently from how a lot of other people do. This is my Eonwe, a sociopath and tyrant obsessed with his own power, in a moment of victory. Half of the fic is from Mairon's POV, the other half is from Eonwe's. I've used breaks to delineate them. As usual, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated.

Mairon had never possessed foresight, but in this moment he may as well have been touched by Eru himself.  In the split seconds before it happened, the blond saw his Master, fierce with the heat of battle, cut down.  One foot, armored in gleaming mithril and diamond, slammed down upon Melkor’s back, and with a sickening crunch, audible even over that distance, the vertebrae shattered.

He screamed, feeling every ounce of the pain as though the injury had been inflicted upon his own person, but no sound left his mouth.  Still, Melkor remained fierce, refusing to show weakness to their Enemy.  Hatred boiled within Mairon’s breast, his eyes locked upon the being who would dare commit such atrocities against his beloved Master.  For there, Eonwe stood triumphant, a menacing grin painting his features and the fire of pure, insane vitriol blazing in his eyes.  Clearly, the herald enjoyed this, and this fact the Lieutenant would never forget.  He made to rush Eonwe, to utterly destroy him, but he’d barely moved when a second wave of pain swept through him mind and body alike.  He did not want to look up, could not look up; for he knew what he would see: his Master’s feet, bleeding and separated at the ankle by the sword of a butcher, a killer.

Falling to the ground, Mairon attempted once more to reach his Enemy, this time by crawling, for he had no strength left within his own feet to bid them move.  Perhaps this was Melkor’s doing, he thought, to shift the pain of fleshy injuries to one who could take it, in order to give himself a few moments of dignity.  So he endured this pain, the agony laced with the barest hint of fear, for it only mattered that he protect his Master, support him as he’d always done.  And he’d almost reached the body now, the Vala to whom he’d sworn fealty so long ago.

And then he was trapped, held still by an immovable force undoubtedly conjured by the very being Mairon hoped to save.  Eonwe smirked even more terribly now, having spotted the blond amongst the bodies of dead soldiers.  Leaning to whisper something into Melkor’s ear, the captive Maia saw only the briefest look of horror before his own head split apart with radiating pain, and with horror he saw that same ear held aloft, a trophy for Eonwe’s twisted curio.  And still, his Master held him from intervention.

Then, nothing.  Or was it really nothing?  He blinked, and still the nightmare had not ended, but the gleaming herald approached him, and he…

* * *

 Eonwe hauled the Lieutenant to his feet, only to watch him fall to his knees and vomit.  Disgusting, but should he have expected anything more from the servant of such a low being?  Eyes narrowing, he forced the Maia’s head up so that their eyes would meet.  Hatred burned within those eyes, consuming the slit pupils as fire consumed the distant reaches of the land around them.  But it did not matter, the herald thought, not truly, for he now held the power.

Offering Mairon a wicked smile, he dangled his prize before his ‘brother’, glee leaping within him as the spirit paled with terror and sickness.  Melkor’s severed head dangled, bloody, between them.  The Vala’s eyes stared open, unfocused, upon nothing.

“What’s the matter, Mairon?” He taunted.  “Here I thought you might wish to give your Lord one last blessing before he is given to the Void.  Don’t you think he’d wish his toy remain loyal to the end?”

Mairon growled, his fists balling in rage.  He made to lunge, but Eonwe swept him in the stomach, knocking him back to cough and sputter upon the ground.

Stepping forward, he again held the Vala’s head between them.  “Kiss your lover, Mairon,” he insisted.  “Or would you be so cruel as to refuse him this last bit of peace?”  He laughed when the blond shook his head, unable to speak for lack of air but spitting with anger.  Turning, Eonwe made as if to return to the body, which the Valar now prepared for disposal into the Void.

_**The Void…?** _

Diving forward in desperation, Mairon caught Melkor’s long, dark hair in his hands.  He grasped at it, and Eonwe allowed the head to drop from his hold.  The herald laughed as Mairon kissed his dead Master’s lips again and again, the tears streaming from his eyes screwed shut in pain.  Eonwe chose to be merciful, giving Mairon a good long moment for the spectacle, before he bodily wrenched the head back into his own hands.  He gave the blond a pitiful look.

“Good boy,” he mocked, “your Master would be proud of you.”

With delight, he carried the head back to the Valar and bound it, along with the rest of the corpse, in the chain Angainor.  Mairon’s screams now echoed across the land around them, even as a few balrogs left standing dragged the Lieutenant away. 

Eonwe made certain the blond could see it when the Valar cast the body beyond the Door of Night.  The Enemy vanquished, his mind thought privately to the next stage of his plan, and if Varda gave him a look of disapproval, he failed to notice.


End file.
